The Last Pilgrims (13 page)

Tim pondered the likelihood of such an
outcome for a moment. He couldn’t imagine the enemy retreating
without destroying the town. “What makes anyone think that they
will leave Bethany intact? Why ride all this way and then
quit?”

“Ok, I know that this sounds confusing, but
it’s actually not when you consider it carefully, and when you have
all of the information. After the council meeting, a handful of
militiamen, along with David Wall, decided to stay and fight when
Aztlan tries to come through the Bethany Pass. They are hoping to
slow them down long enough to allow for a defense to be planned and
executed here on the high ground of the ranch,” Piggy explained,
almost sheepishly, shrugging to indicate that it had not been his
idea.

“David Wall?” Tim almost hollered the name.
“David Wall decided to fight? What the hell is going on? He’s a
Vallensian! Fight? How many is a handful?! I need to know the
details of all that is going on Piggy, right now!”

“Ok, ok!” Piggy tried to placate him,
putting up his hand to slow the conversation down. “Let me run
through it quickly.” He took a deep breath, “After the council
meeting, Jonathan announced that any man who felt strongly
compelled to fight had to make a decision if they were going to be
Vallenses or Militia, given that the Vallenses are not permitted to
fight. He said that he would understand it if anyone wanted to join
the militia. However, if they chose that part, they would
henceforth be considered militiamen and not Vallenses, and though
they could continue to live and work among the Vallenses and attend
some Vallensian functions, they would no longer be permitted to
participate in the communion or close fellowship of the Church.

“Regardless, David Wall announced that he
would fight with the militia. The only other Vallensian who crossed
over was Grayson Smith, the blacksmith. No one else was willing to
forego the communion in order to fight what they considered to be a
losing battle.”

“So what is this about fighting? I still
don’t get it. What is happening now?”

“Easy, Tim, give me a moment to lay it all
out” Piggy said softly. “When David and Grayson crossed over, we
had already decided that the fight could not be won there without
risking everything. We were all pulling out. However, a few of our
men decided to stay and help David in slowing down Aztlan. As far
as I know, there are maybe five men, counting Wall and Smith, left
to defend Bethany.”

“Maybe
five men?” he asked.

Piggy began counting on his fingers, “Ok,
there is David Wall and the Smithy, and among the militia there is
The Hood, Enos Flynn, and Pachuco Reyes. When we left, Hood was
preparing the town so he could ride through and burn it in a
moment’s notice. The rest were rolling boulders down off the sides
of the twin mesas and doing whatever else they could to block the
pass.”

“So five men are going to fight five-hundred
trained Aztlani soldiers?” Tim asked, clearly bewildered at such a
notion. “This is their plan? It’s a suicide.”

“Actually it’s only four,” Piggy added.
“Hood can’t be risked, because if they all die early in the battle,
no one will be able to fire the town.”

“Ridiculous!”

“It’s a sacrifice, Tim.”

“It’s a useless slaughter!”

“They didn’t see it that way.”

“They should have just burned the town!”

“They needed to slow them down. Listen, you
weren’t there, Tim; you can’t know how it went down.”

Tim sighed deeply, rose up on his saddle
before settling back down into it. After a moment of thought, he
looked at Piggy. “I’ve been charged with protecting the Wall family
by Phillip himself. I have my orders. There are enough of you here
to start preparing the defense of this place. I’m riding south.
What are the plans there?”

As he spoke these words, he heard a slight,
almost imperceptible gasp escape from Ruth. When he looked at her,
she had her hand over her mouth. When she saw him looking at her,
she dropped her hand and averted her gaze.

“All
of your family is my
responsibility, Ruth,” he said gently.

“I understand,” she replied, “and I would
ride with you, if I thought you’d let me get away with it. But you
won’t.”

“No, I won’t.”

Piggy interrupted, “They are expecting the
Aztlanis to arrive at sunrise. The storm and the burning of San
Angelo slowed them down, but not for long.”

“I’ve got to go then.”

“I’ll be going with you,” shouted Jack, who
had remained silent through the whole exchange.

“If you do…,” Tim cautioned, leaning
forward.

“I will be kicked out of the fellowship, I
know. But my family is indebted to the Walls for their friendship
and help when my parents first came to this country. David is my
friend… I’ve known him all my life. I will go and fight.”

“I can’t stop you,” Tim replied. “Jonathan
said that each man had to decide for himself. Go quickly and say
goodbye to your parents, and get what weapons you have. If we ride
through as fast as we can, and barring any unexpected delays, we
can be there an hour or so before sunrise. The road isn’t as jammed
with refugees as it was an hour ago, and the northbound traffic
will grow lighter. I know a few shortcuts too. I’ll meet you here
and be ready to ride in thirty minutes.”

Jack rode off into the shadows, and the rest
of the militia began to ride into the camp. Piggy stopped his horse
next to Tim’s and the two shook hands.

“Thank you for your report, Piggy.”

“I’m just doing my job. I know that you are
too. May God keep you and protect you.”

“Thanks, man. You keep all of these folks
safe—especially my best friend Ruth here, ok?”

“Will do, Tim,” Piggy replied, as he
followed the last of his unit through the gate.

Tim turned to Ruth, who was sitting
stoically on her horse, absentmindedly clutching the coffee bag.
The two looked at one another for a few moments in silence that
spoke volumes. Tim reached into the pocket on his leather coat,
pulled out an old arrowhead and handed it to her.

“I found this by the creek the day you took
down that pig with one shot. Why don’t you hold it for me until I
get back?”

Ruth rubbed the arrowhead in her hand,
looking at him searchingly. “I’ll do that, Timothy.”

After another moment of silence, Tim pulled
the reins, spurred the horse and headed for his tent.

As he passed by the pilgrim camp and the
people moving about setting up tents and preparing fires, he
wondered if the Vallenses knew what the militia was doing, and why
they found it necessary to fight. He figured that they did know.
They must know. Somehow, he knew that they were grateful. He also
knew that most of the members of the Ghost militia were also
grateful for the Vallenses, and for all they had done to stabilize
their world after the collapse, providing some light to the world
cloaked in deathly darkness. What would the world be without them?
What a weird sight we must all be to the world
.

His thoughts strayed to the issues that
divided, and those that united these two unlikely allies. Maybe,
deep down, he wanted—maybe even more than he was willing to
admit—to be a Vallensian, and to have a family. Kin was something
he had never had in his short life. Yet, he knew that for a soldier
home life and family were not an option. Phillip himself had tried
to keep a wife and now the Ghost’s own family was held by
Aztlan.

He had been raised in the militia. He didn’t
even remember having a family, nor could he know what that meant
outside the family he had among his Ghost brethren. His duty and
honor were the only two things of consequence that he owned.

He had only faint memories of being an
orphan, running with a pack of what could only be called feral
orphan boys out west and south of what had once been Wichita Falls.
How old was he when the militia found him? Seven? Six? Probably
seven—it was hard to tell, with no one to remember his birthday or
locate any remaining records.

The militia outriders picked up the eight
homeless orphans and offered them real food and a place to sleep.
And then they had trained. For the next seven years, they had
trained almost every day. They didn’t just learn to fight and ride.
They learned to read and spell. They learned history and
philosophy. Phillip did not believe that a warrior could remain on
the side of right if he was uneducated and if he was ignorant of
history, philosophy, and religion. The Ghost militia was not made
up of coarse and vulgar killers. They were killers, without a
doubt, but they were educated and noble in their pursuit of
justice.

Phillip had called them his Spartans, and
had taught them what that moniker meant. He told them that many
years ago, three hundred Spartans had faced off against between
half a million and a million Persians at Thermopylae, and had
fought there to their death. It was an honor to be called
Spartans.

Phillip had also taught them the militia
honor code, and they had all learned the art and business of
guerilla war. At eighteen years of age, Timothy was one of the
brightest and bravest of Phillip’s own troops; and now, he was
heading towards his Thermopylae.

Reaching his tent, he grabbed another quiver
of arrows that had been fitted with a leather cover and a shoulder
strap and threw it over his shoulder. Then he loaded his saddlebag
with dried meat, extra containers of water, and a few extra flints.
If they were to fight with guns, which they did on occasion,
someone else would have had to have gotten them. Phillip did not
usually allow them to keep guns with them. They were too heavy, and
too easily relied upon. The militia stash of arms was hidden and
only accessed when the whole militia would be engaged in an action.
Most likely, the Ghost units would be using arrows, swords and
knives against Aztlani guns and maybe even cannon.

After he was certain that he had everything
that he needed, he sat down with a quill pen, dipped the tip in a
small bottle of ink he had bought the last time he was in Bethany,
and wrote a note to Ruth on a piece of cotton paper.

He wrote that the time he had spent guarding
the Walls had been the best time of his life, and that he had
really enjoyed knowing her. He told her that he admired her more
than he did anyone else in the world—other than, maybe, her father
and Phillip. She’d understand that. He reminded her to keep her
faith, and be a good help to her father, and that he hoped that
someday she’d marry and raise a good Vallensian family. He placed
the note on his cot, knowing that Ruth would find it if something
happened to him. Then he mounted his horse, looked back one more
time over his humble home, and rode back towards the gate.

As he approached the main entrance, he met
up with Jack who had evidently informed his family of his plans.
The Russian just smiled a crooked smile, indicating that it had
probably not gone too well. Tim didn’t ask and Jack didn’t
volunteer.

As they rode in silence through the gate and
turned towards the road to Bethany, Tim slowed down and pulled his
horse up. He looked back, and in the moonlight, he could just make
out the outline of Ruth, seated on her horse, silhouetted by
Vallensian fires.

He didn’t wave goodbye.

It wasn’t much different from hunting. Her
horse Peloncio stood patiently and without fidgeting as they waited
in the dark shadows of the copse. A warm breeze swirled lazily
through the trees, and she kept her breath steady and regular as
she sat motionless in the dark.

Traffic on the Bethany road had thinned to
the point that only an occasional straggler passed by—either
families to the north of the town who took a longer time to get
ready to leave, or those who had made it through the pass just
before it was closed down.

Every part of her had wanted to rush down to
Bethany. She knew shortcuts that no one else even knew existed, and
she could have probably arrived long before Tim and Jack got even
close. She had waited a good thirty minutes before starting to
follow them southward. Now, she waited patiently in the dark.

Her conscience would not allow her to do
what she so much wanted to do, which was to disobey Timothy, her
father, and the
ordnung
of the community, and go fight those
who would attack and kill her people and destroy their property.
Still, her inner voice urged her to, at the very least, make sure
that Tim and David were safe, even if she had to die doing so. But
the obedience she had learned all of her life, and her love and
respect for her father, would not allow her to rush south to
Bethany without his permission. So she waited.

Her father would have left Bethany only
after the last of the stragglers had gotten out of the town, so she
expected him to pass by here at any time.

She was not surprised that a few minutes
later her father and a group of friends and Elders appeared, riding
up the road in the moonlight. She rode out where she could be seen,
and sat waiting for them as they approached.

“Ruth?” her father asked. “Is that you,
dear?”

“Yes, Father.”

“What are you doing here, Ruth?”

“I was waiting for you. I need to ask your
permission to ride scout to Bethany. I know that you won’t think
that it’s wise, but please let me do it, Father. Somebody needs to
be able to warn the camp—someone who knows all of the shortcuts and
the hiding places also needs to be able to ride back and warn
everyone if the Aztlani soldiers keep coming north. I’ll stay
hidden, and away from the battle… I promise.”

“Ruth…” her father sighed. “Ruth, you’re
still a young girl, and you know nothing of war. Scouting is a
grown man’s job. We’ll send someone to do this.”